It has been five years since the Lighthouse War, a war whose end helped usher in a new peaceful era of mutual cooperation the likes of Vincent Harling and Kei Nagase always dreamed of. But peace is a fragile thing that requires constant care and effort. It's easy to forget how the actions of a few can plunge a nation, a continent, or worse, a planet, into strife.
In southern Verusa, a frozen conflict amongst brothers and sisters stirs awake, threatening to devour the storied lands of Arkanar in the bitter flames of war once more. With efforts spearheaded by Osea and Erusea, the IUN springs into action with the intent of restoring peace and upholding order in the country.
In recognition of your past performances, your nation's Naval chain of command has transferred you to IUN Peacekeeping Force detachment in Arkanar. Specifically, the premier Submersible Aviation Cruiser Squadron of the newly-assembled OFS Nautilus, the Fairy Squadron. You are to take the place of their flight leader.
After a frantic sprint through the labyrinthine sewers, the entire party charged forward together—only for disaster to strike. Without warning, a massive stone wall descended from the ceiling, slamming into place with an echoing thud. Dust and debris filled the air as the mechanism sealed shut, splitting the group in two.
Eve, Gris, and Zamora found themselves isolated from the others, their voices drowned by the eerie silence of the tunnels. With no way to lift the barrier, the three had no choice but to press forward, weaving through the maze-like sewer passages in search of an exit—or a way to reunite with their friends.
Yet every path they took led to another dead end, the way forward blocked by rusted metal grates. The stench of stagnant water thickened the air, and the distant sound of dripping echoed through the darkness.
As they pressed on, they came across a cluster of kobolds hunched over the murky waters, fishing with makeshift rods. Though wary, the creatures paid them no mind, their glowing eyes fixed on their lines. They did not seem hostile, so the party cautiously approached.
“How do you get out of here?” Eve asked.
One of the kobolds turned, tilting its head. “Wait three days,” it said, its voice a raspy croak. “Wall trap resets.”
Gris groaned, crossing her arms. “Well, I don’t wanna wait three days.”
With no choice but to continue wandering, the trio pressed on, their footsteps splashing through shallow puddles. After what felt like hours, they stumbled upon a stone staircase descending deeper into the unknown.
But as they descended, an ominous chill settled over them. The air grew thick and damp, carrying the scent of decay. Their path soon led them to a monstrous sight—a giant spider lurking at the tunnel’s edge, its many eyes glistening in the dim light.
Zamora, ever the diplomat, cautiously stepped forward, speaking in a hushed, melodic tone. The spider responded, its chittering voice vibrating through the chamber. It spoke of a terrible presence dwelling in the depths—an ancient evil so fearsome that even the spiders dared not tread further.
Yet, despite its warning, the beast soon revealed its own intentions. Hunger gleamed in its many eyes, and with a sudden lunge, it attacked. A fierce battle erupted, blades flashing and magic crackling through the air. When the dust settled, the creature lay motionless, its dark ichor staining the stone floor.
Shaken but undeterred, the party pressed on. Another staircase loomed ahead, leading to a chamber partially submerged in water. The air was heavy with moisture, and the rippling surface of the flooded passage hinted at unseen dangers lurking beneath.
Faced with uncertainty, the trio hesitated.
What will you do?
> Descend deeper into the unknown. > Return to the first level and set up camp. > Explore this second level further—you haven’t seen everything yet. > Write in
You are a magical girl, you know that much, but you’re not really sure where you are, or exactly who you are; not only can you not see, hear or smell a single thing, but you can’t feel your body at all, nor recall how long you’ve been stuck in this… place. Perhaps not unexpectedly, and due to your complete and utter inability to make out anything in your surroundings, you can’t spot anything resembling walls, a floor or a ceiling, so everything around you is a blended-together, eye-wateringly intense (but also eerily calming) black… and yet, you are somehow aware that even if you could somehow see something, anything at all, it wouldn’t be much use at all. Well, if that isn’t just slightly puzzling. Yes, it most certainly is, but there’s not much you can do about it, right? At least, for now.
Taking that into account, and for a few moments that seem to last forever in this timeless space, you simply continue existing, gazing eyelessly into the unchanging void around you as your non-present brain in your absent body attempts to process the situation without much success. A few more eternal instants, and, perhaps bored of simply staring at nothing, forever, your long-departed brain attempts to recall the past in order to clue you in on the situation… but, as if attempting to collect water from an empty well, you end up drawing a complete blank: effectively, and to nobody’s surprise, there is nothing to recall or remember or reminiscence about. Maybe there was never anything there in the first place. But as relevant as that single piece of information would be in the grand scheme of things, you have no way of finding out the truth or verifying that not-that-unreasonable hypothesis. Because, ultimately, you’re nothing but a floating ball of vague and distant thoughts in the middle of nowhere in particular.
An indeterminate amount of hypothetical time passes yet again, and another vague thought floats to the forefront: maybe, just maybe, this isn’t so bad after all! Indeed, though the situation you find yourself in may be classified as disconcerting or disorientating, it’s actually not that unpleasant if you use your voided brain to think about it: there is no pain, no suffering, no hunger, no desire, no thirst, no anguish, no fear, no craving, and you need not worry about an unchangeable past, an unstable present or an uncertain future. Perhaps this is how things were meant to be. Perhaps, from the start of all things to the end of all of creation, this is the correct state of existence, a formless and aimless void stretching forever and ever, unbothered and unbothering, without beginning or end.
Sing, goddess, of thirsty Argos, and of the glory of Hippomedon Aristomachides - sing of the folly of Adrastus, of the savagery of Tydeus and of Oedipal transgressions! Sing, O Muse, of Zeus’ designs, which even now come to fulfillment…
Your name is Joey Donuts. You are Grel (half elf, half human} You are a student wizard. You haven't picked your major and you're not licenced to use magic in areas owned by the Grand Ternion Unity.
You have SIX spells
Blast - Does 6d6+20 energy damage. -MP 20 Draw- Drain 10+2d6 mana from a target, providing they have mana -MP 5 Wrack - DO 10 damage to yourself to gain 12 MP -free WIZARD HAAAANDS - Manipulate an object you can see but not reach. As strong as you are - MP 10 Douse - Extinguish any fire up to the size of a campfire , includes ignitions from matches and guns - MP 5 Hells Heart - Instantly double the damage of any attack (ranged, magical, or physical) by charging it with magic -MP 16 Joey has improved this skill and can cast it on another party member while still performing an action for 20 mana. He can also cast it on himself and one other person while performing another task for a cost of 41 mana. Earths Honesty - Tell if someone is lying about the thing they have just said. MP 6
You are the acting CEO of Cold Iron Solutions potion company. Making mutterbottles and mana potions
You solve shit.
Your consigliere and number one is also your girlfriend. An enterprising goblin for hire called HIGHBALL. You have a company staff.
LUMSDEN -Owner and pilot of your airship SURREY - Potion brewer JONES - Staff chef GILCREST - Custodian KARL - A private investigator
You have adventuring party members
BURSTOCK - An chill but rebellious healer. A thot with a big heart. MIKE - A pragmatic hunter, kinder than he looks. Kind of your bro. RICHTER - A wise muscle wizard, unfamiliar with people. JORN - A distractible martial artist trying to make up for past crimes.
You are Tristain d’Rusalka, a noble from the United Kingdom of Fodlan born with unique abilities bestowed upon you by the Goddess. You have journeyed across the sea to the desert kingdom of Morfis after receiving an invitation to join a mysterious competition. Though you know little of the trials that lie ahead, the winner of this contest has been promised the hand of Morfis’ Princess, Yulia Xan Phanes, in marriage. Seeking adventures, thrills, and battles that would be worthy of your might, you embarked on this strange voyage with nothing but your trusted axe.
Your journey took you to Ithaca, a research camp situated in the midst of a magical sandstorm that barred intruders. Shortly after your arrival, the camp came under attack by a clan of desert assassins. They kidnapped one of your companions, Alvin, and took over The Keep, a fortress where Ithaca’s researchers performed their most dangerous experiments. You and your companions stormed the stronghold, facing enemies that included not just the assassins, but also monsters, ancient spirits, and even a skeletal clone of yourself.
Having rescued Alvin, you learned that he was the target of the assassins, who were seeking an object in his possession that would open the way to Tartarus, a great tomb that had been sealed away for thousands of years. With two more destinations to go before you reached Morfis, it was likely that you would face additional threats to your safety.
>Abilities: Crest of Indech: You are able to make a follow-up attack on one foe, regardless of Speed. (4 Charges) Crest of Macuil: Double the attack power of a magic spell. (3 Charges) Combat Art: Earthsplitter: Cleave all enemies standing two rows in front of you. (Cost: 1 Crest of Indech Charge) Combat Art: Throw: (Toss your weapon at an enemy and return it to your hand. Ranged attack.) (1 Crest of Indech Charge)
You stare at yourself in the bathroom mirror. It's smudged, spattered with god knows what but you still recognize yourself despite all the blood.
Kyle Mercer. 25 years on your way to Hell. Naked, splattered with someone else's blood. Again.
You're trembling, a mixture of nerves and adrenaline. Why? You're sure you're going to find out whether you want to or not. You had been planning on making changes in your life and maybe others. That's why you were going home, right?
You stare into your own pale eyes and see…well, not much. Vitreous orbs, your fleshy windows to the world. You look down at your chest and see your tattoo, directly over your heart. You got it years ago and it meant the world to you but you can't remember when or why.
It was an Ouroboros, black on pale flesh but now streaked with red. You wet your hand in the sink and wash the blood away delicately. The cold water makes you break out in goosebumps. You see the blood on your body is dried. How long have you been standing here? Whose blood do you have on you this time?
You shake your head trying to clear it. "Fuck!" You didn't bother wondering why you couldn't remember anything. It was a consequence of what happened to you when you were younger. The same reason your arms were dotted with circular scars from cigarette burns and small, hard crosses carved into you years ago. It was the same reason the skin across the left side of your face, running down your neck to your shoulder and peck, was shiny and taut. A cruel burn that left those parts of you without feeling. Your long hair only partially conceals the scar tissue.
"You can't desecrate the temple," she'd said. "Only decorate it."
You inhale again, body trembling, and exhale. It's time for a change. You pick up the pill bottle from the sink, uncap it and dump the pills into the toilet. They rattle in with satisfying, porcelain clinks and plops. When you flush you watch a red-blue kaleidoscope of pharmaceuticals tumble to watery oblivion.
You didn't need those anyway. They only slowed you down. Confused you. You look back at yourself in the mirror. You lick your teeth, and taste iron. You feel better already. In fact, you feel Brand New.
What's changed?
>What doesn't kill you Wounds that incapacitate others don't stop you >Whispers in the wind You can catch glimpses into people's thoughts. >Right behind you You have a knack for showing up in places you shouldn't be able to get to
All that you have left is whatever is still in your hotel room and of course what's on the bathroom sink in front of you.
(Let's see How this goes, been awhile since I've ran a quest here.)
You are standing in the middle of Central Cities mall, Central Mall, and thus far the day hasn't been the worst. You woke up today and managed to get cleaned up and ready just in time before you were thrown into the mass transport of your little organization. The initial entrance went smoothly, you managed to look adequately intimidating while your boss did their big speech despite your costume. Your squad even got to be placed on acquisition rather than perimeter duty, meaning all you had to do was load the loot and not deal with the chance a superhero might show up.
When Speedfreak showed up, well it got a bit bad. Speedsters sucked to fight, but there was only one of him and we knew staying in groups provided us some minimal safety.
Really it was thanks to your boss that kept things from going any worse.
Who is your boss?
>The Silver Don: He's a guy who styles himself in classic gangster chic, pinstripe suits, hats, gloves, the classic professional criminal get up. It's just that his is made of some weird shiny metal making him bullet proof and weigh a ton and has hidden tommy guns in his sleeves. You of course are dressed similarly, except yours is just a normal gangster suit that comes with a face mask to hide your identity and properly dehumanize you, standard henchman style. You do get weapons themed of mobster stuff though, with made men possibly getting better suits, so that's neat.
>Empress Feliine: A Metahuman with cat powers, she is running around in a sort of speudo aztec/jungle aesthetic. Furs and boiled leather, but keeping it light so she can stay agile. You get to wear plenty more leather padding, fur, and of course a stone like cat mask with prominent ears. Low tech weapons, but sometimes Empress lets her minions use magic stuff, the ones that impress her at least.
>New Wave: An Anarcho-Technocrat, which I think they explained isn't contradictory like i thought it was, straped in a cyberpunk like aesthetic. To describe it is difficult, but imagine a named gang boss in a cyberpunk game mixed with a mad scientist, and you got it. Neon lights and pulsing wires covering them and their lab/trench coat as they move around using gadgets. You also get this lovely chaotic style, with your choice of either face mask, oversized goggles, or whatever as long as your face is hidden enough to meet henchman standards. You get access to more high tech weapons made by the boss, and loyal minions getting cybernetics (if you're into that stuff)
Section 1: The Outbreak Jace had never been one for superstition. He’d grown up in a small, sleepy town where the biggest event of the year was the harvest festival. Life was predictable. Until that morning.
He'd been in the kitchen, brewing a pot of coffee, when the first reports hit the radio. The news anchor’s voice, frantic and shaky, had warned of a rapidly spreading virus. The government wasn’t yet calling it an outbreak, but it wasn’t hard to guess that something was terribly wrong.
"… citizens are urged to stay indoors. Avoid contact with the infected…"
Jace had turned off the radio. It wasn’t the first time a scare like this had been reported. Bird flu, swine flu, the countless outbreaks that always ended in nothing more than empty warnings and public hysteria. But this was different. The strange look in his neighbor’s eyes, the unnatural stumble of a woman down the street, something wasn’t right.
By noon, the world was already changing. Sirens began wailing, emergency broadcasts flooded every channel. By 3 PM, it was clear: the virus had spread rapidly across the country, and it wasn’t just another flu.
Jace’s phone buzzed. It was a message from Sarah, his girlfriend of three years.
"Jace, I’m scared. I’m at my apartment, I don’t know what’s happening. Please come get me."
Presently, you're in your own home, though it's more broken-down than you remember it. Though you expect you've gone to hell for the inexplicable, unforgivable crime of murdering your own father, you have so far evaded the endless suffering you deserve. Instead, you've promised to help your imaginary younger self locate some keys, so she can follow said father through secret tunnels under your house. You have a bad feeling about all of this.
Lottie isn't ten steps into the neighboring room before she stops in her tracks, spinning on her heel to face you. "Wait!"
You haven't even reached the doorway. "What?"
"You need a weapon! What if the footsteps are a burglar? What if Daddy..." She doesn't finish. "You're tall enough, right?"
"To—"
"To reach?"
You sigh, duck under the cobwebby doorway, and enter the room. Yes, you know what she means: the neighboring room has a fireplace, and a mantel, and a sword hanging tantalizingly above it. You can reach it now, if you apply your tiptoes, but not then. (And if Aunt Ruby ever caught you moving the furniture, let alone handling something so dangerous, you'd be without breakfast for weeks.)
The Sword is not on your hip, even if it should be, even as you reach for it. It is back above the mantel. You don't like the thought of getting it down again— you don't deserve it. But Lottie's right about the footsteps. You wouldn't mind getting crowbarred by a would-be thief, but she doesn't deserve to die. She hasn't done anything evil yet. Having a weapon could protect her, and maybe you could ironically fall upon it later.
You might as well be carrying a bone, Lottie looks so much like a puppy: all big eyes and trembling anticipation. As you head toward the mantel and reach up, you're surprised she doesn't whimper. You were never allowed pets: your Aunt Ruby would say something about "mouths to feed" and shut down all conversation. As you grasp upon The Sword's hilt and feel a squeeze and glance down to find you're being hugged— again— you're starting to grasp what it might've been like.
"Propriety!" you say automatically, and brush her off you. "Also, I— I'm holding a sword! It's not safe!"
"You're not going to drop it. Since you're so good at it? Right?"
She so desperately wants you to say 'yes.' And the answer isn't 'no.' You're sure you're no master, but you've been trained, somewhere. At some point. You still can't remember. "Um... no matter what, you shouldn't..."
"Can I see it?"
"Only if you're careful." You're holding it above you still. "You're not going to grab it, right? I can't—"
"Who are you?" She folds her arms. "Aunt Ruby? I'm not <span class="mu-i">dumb.</span>"
You're not sure about that, but lower the sword reluctantly. Lottie's face drops at the same time yours does: The Sword is dust-covered and, worse, rust-covered. It's pitted with holes. It looks about as sharp as that prowler's probable crowbar.
